


Scars are memories

by orphan_account



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Depression, M/M, Self-Harm, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-13
Updated: 2017-11-13
Packaged: 2019-02-01 18:58:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12710964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: In a world where any cut on your skin shows up on your soulmate's skin, Phil Lester can't take it anymore when his soulmate starts destroying his own body, and he starts to destroy his body, too.I'm shit at summaries, just read it, it's not as sucky as it sounds.





	Scars are memories

**Author's Note:**

> TW for: graphic depictions of self-harm, self-hatred. Stay safe!

Phil was sixteen years old when he started dreading the moment when more lines would appear on his skin. When he had been younger, he’d been excited every time a scrape showed up on his knee, or a little papercut on his finger. Those little tiny injuries were his only connection to the soulmate he always fantasized about. He wondered if his soulmate was as curious as he was.

He used to make up little stories to explain where every mark came from, pretending that the cut on his elbow was from his soulmate falling off the monkey bars, that the slice on his thumb was from cutting tomatoes, that the scar on his thigh was from tripping in the woods while being chased by pirates.

But the game stopped being fun when the network of lines started appearing on his arms and torso and thighs, because why would Phil want to imagine why his soulmate was carving into his own body? Sometimes he would lie awake in bed, watching the smooth lines slowly slice into his skin, marking his pale arms. The worst were the words: fat on his stomach, worthless on his left thigh, disgusting on his right arm. 

At twenty-one, Phil now wondered how his soulmate was even still alive. After five years of slicing up his body, so that he looked more like a patchwork quilt stitched together with scars than a human, shouldn't he have fallen apart by now? It seemed like nothing more than red lines and sorrow was holding him together. 

One day, Phil just couldn't stand by and watch his soulmate destroy himself any longer, but there was nothing he could do to stop it, so he ended up destroying himself, too. With two people ravaging the same body, it seemed like it should have disintegrated by now, like all of the little pieces that had been cut apart should have broken off and just floated away. 

If friendship was one soul in two bodies, then soul mates were two souls in one body, but together, they were destroying it too fast.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 

Dan stopped cutting apart his body not so that his body wouldn't collect anymore scars, but so that his soulmate’s wouldn't. 

He didn't find them ugly; they were decorations. Every single one was a memory, like photographs framed on the walls of a house. Although, most people hung pictures of memories they wanted to remember, not ones they'd give anything to forget. 

He couldn't be sure, but he didn't think that he'd even noticed that the scars on his arms weren't only from him anymore for at least a month, maybe even longer. But the first scar that wasn't his that he noticed marked the last scar that he gave himself.

It was hard, quitting his most addictive drug. Excruciating, actually. But it was easier to give up something that was killing the person you loved, than if it was just destroying you.

Dan didn't really care all that much about what happened to him anymore. Nobody sliced up their arms for the sake of living. But he didn't know what it would do to his soulmate if the random little marks, the everyday paper cuts, the slices on his fingers from not being careful enough with kitchen knives, the scrapes from tripping on the sidewalk, stopped appearing. Dan worried that if he stopped living, then his soulmate would fade out of existence with him.

It was his soulmate who, without ever speaking a word to him, made Dan realize that his life didn't belong to him. That if he shattered himself, everyone around him would get cut trying to pick up the pieces.

Three weeks after this realization, Dan walking down the street, alone in the crowd, when he bumped into someone. With his piercing blue eyes and beautifully tragic smile, he wouldn't have been unremarkable even if he hadn't had that mark on his neck, but with it, he was extraordinary. Almost unconsciously, Dan reached up to brush his fingertips against the identical birthmark on his own neck, still staring at the man. 

Dan suddenly clutched the man’s wrist, and pulled up his sleeve to expose lacy scars blanketing his skin. Choking back a sob, he yanked up his own sleeves like a magician pulling back a curtain to reveal a matching lace pattern. 

“My name is Dan, and I'm so sorry.”

The man smiled sadly. “My name is Phil, and I'm sorrier.”

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys, thanks for reading! Hope you enjoyed  
> Love, Grace


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